The Secret of Chimneys
little sleep. The only thing is, to-day seems a little dull after it.”
“There’s a nice shady place down under that cedar tree,” remarked the
superintendent. “Shall I take a chair down to it for you?”
“If you think it’s the best thing for me to do,” said Virginia solemnly.
“You’re very quick, Mrs. Revel. Yes, it’s quite true, I do want a word
with you.”
He picked up a long wicker chair and carried it down the lawn. Virginia
followed him with a cushion under her arm.
“Very dangerous place, that terrace,” remarked the detective. “That is,
if you want to have a private conversation.”
“I’m getting excited again, Superintendent Battle.”
“Oh, it’s nothing important.” He took out a big watch and glanced at
it. “Half-past ten. I’m starting for Wyvvern Abbey in ten minutes to
report to Mr. Lomax. Plenty of time. I only wanted to know if you could
tell me a little more about Mr. Cade.”
“About Mr. Cade?”
Virginia was startled.
“Yes, where you first met him, and how long you’ve known him and so
forth.”
Battle’s manner was easy and pleasant enough. He even refrained from
looking at her, and the fact that he did so made her vaguely uneasy.
“It’s more difficult than you think,” she said at last. “He did me a
great service once——”
Battle interrupted her.
“Before you go any further, Mrs. Revel, I’d just like to say something.
Last night, after you and Mr. Eversleigh had gone to bed, Mr. Cade told
me all about the letters and the man who was killed in your house.”
“He did?” gasped Virginia.
“Yes, and very wisely too. It clears up a lot of misunderstanding.
There’s only one thing he didn’t tell me—how long he had known you.
Now I’ve a little idea of my own about that. You shall tell me if I’m
right or wrong. I think that the day he came to your house in Pont
Street was the first time you had ever seen him. Ah! I see I’m right.
It was so.”
Virginia said nothing. For the first time she felt afraid of this
stolid man with the expressionless face. She understood what Anthony
had meant when he said there were no flies on Superintendent Battle.
“Has he ever told you anything about his life?” the detective
continued. “Before he was in South Africa, I mean. Canada? Or before
that, the Sudan? Or about his boyhood?”
Virginia merely shook her head.
“And yet I’d bet he’s got something worth telling. You can’t mistake
the face of a man who’s led a life of daring and adventure. He could
tell you some interesting tales if he cared to.”
“If you want to know about his past life, why don’t you cable to that
friend of his, Mr. McGrath?” Virginia asked.
“Oh, we have. But it seems he’s up country somewhere. Still, there’s no
doubt Mr. Cade was in Bulawayo when he said he was. But I wondered what
he’d been doing before he came to South Africa. He’d only had that job
with Castle’s about a month.” He took out his watch again. “I must be
off. The car will be waiting.”
Virginia watched him retreat to the house. But she did not move from
her chair. She hoped that Anthony might appear and join her. Instead
came Bill Eversleigh, with a prodigious yawn.
“Thank God, I’ve got a chance to speak to you at last, Virginia,” he
complained.
“Well, speak to me very gently, Bill darling, or I shall burst into
tears.”
“Has some one been bullying you?”
“Not exactly bullying me. Getting inside my mind and turning it inside
out. I feel as though I’d been jumped on by an elephant.”
“Not Battle?”
“Yes, Battle. He’s a terrible man really.”
“Well, never mind Battle. I say, Virginia, I do love you so awfully——”
“Not this morning, Bill. I’m not strong enough. Anyway, I’ve always
told you the best people don’t propose before lunch.”
“Good Lord,” said Bill. “I could propose to you before breakfast.”
Virginia shuddered.
“Bill, be sensible and intelligent for a minute. I want to ask your
advice.”
“If you’d once make up your mind to it, and say you’d marry me, you’d
feel miles better, I’m sure. Happier, you know, and more settled down.”
“Listen to me, Bill. Proposing to me is your _idée fixe_. All men
propose when they’re bored and can’t think of anything to say. Remember
my age and my widowed state, and go and make love to a pure young girl.”
“My darling Virginia—Oh, blast! here’s that French idiot bearing down
on us.”
It was indeed M. Lemoine, black-bearded and correct of demeanour as
ever.
“Good morning, madame. You are not fatigued, I trust?”
“Not in the least.”
“That is excellent. Good morning, Mr. Eversleigh.”
“How would it be if we promenaded ourselves a little, the three of us?”
suggested the Frenchman.
“How about it, Bill?” said Virginia.
“Oh, all right,” said the unwilling young gentleman by her side.
He heaved himself up from the grass, and the three of them walked
slowly along. Virginia between the two men. She was sensible at once of
a strange undercurrent of excitement in the Frenchman, though she had
no clue as to what caused it.
Soon, with her usual skill, she was putting him at his ease, asking him
questions, listening to his answers, and gradually drawing him out.
Presently he was telling them anecdotes of the famous King Victor. He
talked well, albeit with a certain bitterness, as he described the
various ways in which the detective bureau had been outwitted.
But all the time, despite the real absorption of Lemoine in his own
narrative, Virginia had a feeling that he had some other object in
view. Moreover, she judged that Lemoine, under cover of his story, was
deliberately striking out his own course across the park. They were
not just strolling idly. He was deliberately guiding them in a certain
direction.
Suddenly, he broke off his story and looked round. They were
standing just where the drive intersected the park before turning an
abrupt corner by a clump of trees. Lemoine was staring at a vehicle
approaching them from the direction of the house.
Virginia’s eyes followed his.
“It’s the luggage cart,” she said, “taking Isaacstein’s luggage and his
valet to the station.”
“Is that so?” said Lemoine. He glanced down at his own watch and
started. “A thousand pardons. I have been longer here than I
meant—such charming company. Is it possible, do you think, that I
might have a lift to the village?”
He stepped out on to the drive, and signalled with his arm. The luggage
cart stopped, and after a word or two of explanation Lemoine climbed in
behind. He raised his hat politely to Virginia, and drove off.
The other two stood and watched the cart disappearing with puzzled
expressions. Just as the cart swung round the bend, a suit-case fell
off into the drive. The cart went on.
“Come on,” said Virginia to Bill. “We’re going to see something
interesting. That suit-case was thrown out.”
“Nobody’s noticed it,” said Bill.
They ran down the drive towards the fallen piece of luggage. Just as
they reached it, Lemoine came round the corner of the bend on foot. He
was hot from walking fast.
“I was obliged to descend,” he said pleasantly. “I found that I had
left something behind.”
“This?” said Bill, indicating the suit-case.
It was a handsome case of heavy pigskin, with the initials H. I. on it.
“What a pity!” said Lemoine gently. “It must have fallen out. Shall we
lift it from the road?”
Without waiting for a reply, he picked up the suit-case, and carried it
over to the belt of trees. He stooped over it, something flashed in his
hand, and the lock slipped back.
He spoke, and his voice was totally different, quick and commanding.
“The car will be here in a minute,” he said. “Is it in sight?”
Virginia looked back towards the house.
“No.”
“Good.”
With deft fingers he tossed the things out of the suit-case.
Gold-topped bottle, silk pyjamas, a variety of socks. Suddenly his
whole figure stiffened. He caught up what appeared to be a bundle of
silk underwear, and unrolled it rapidly.
A slight exclamation broke from Bill. In the centre of the bundle was a
heavy revolver.
“I hear the horn,” said Virginia.
Like lightning, Lemoine repacked the suit-case. The revolver he wrapped
in a silk handkerchief of his own, and slipped into his pocket. He
snapped the locks of the suit-case, and turned quickly to Bill.
“Take it. Madame will be with you. Stop the car, and explain that it
fell off the luggage cart. Do not mention me.”
Bill stepped quickly down to the drive just as the big Lanchester
limousine with Isaacstein inside it came round the corner. The
chauffeur slowed down, and Bill swung the suit-case up to him.
“Fell off the luggage cart,” he explained. “We happened to see it.”
He caught a momentary glimpse of a startled yellow face as the
financier stared at him, and then the car swept on again.
They went back to Lemoine. He was standing with the revolver in his
hand, and a look of gloating satisfaction in his face.
“A long shot,” he said. “A very long shot. But it came off.”
22
The Red Signal
Superintendent Battle was standing in the library at Wyvvern Abbey.
George Lomax, seated before a desk overflowing with papers, was
frowning portentously.
Superintendent Battle had opened proceedings by making a brief and
business-like report. Since then, the conversation had lain almost
entirely with George, and Battle had contented himself with making
brief and usually monosyllabic replies to the other’s questions.
On the desk, in front of George, was the packet of letters Anthony had
found on his dressing-table.
“I can’t understand it at all,” said George irritably, as he picked up
the packet. “They’re in code, you say?”
“Just so, Mr. Lomax.”
“And where does he say he found them—on his dressing-table?”
Battle repeated, word for word, Anthony Cade’s account of how he had
come to regain possession of the letters.
“And he brought them at once to you? That was quite proper—quite
proper. But who could have placed them in his room?”
Battle shook his head.
“That’s the sort of thing you ought to know,” complained George. “It
sounds to me very fishy—very fishy indeed. What do we know about this
man Cade anyway? He appears in a most mysterious manner—under highly
suspicious circumstances—and we know nothing whatever about him. I
may say that I, personally, don’t care for his manner at all. You’ve
made inquiries about him, I suppose?”
Superintendent Battle permitted himself a patient smile.
“We wired at once to South Africa, and his story has been confirmed on
all points. He was in Bulawayo with Mr. McGrath at the time he stated.
Previous to their meeting, he was employed by Messrs. Castle, the
Tourist Agents.”
“Just what I should have expected,” said George. “He has the kind of
cheap assurance that succeeds in a certain type of employment. But
about these letters—steps must be taken at once—at once——”
The great man puffed himself out and swelled importantly.
Superintendent Battle opened his mouth, but George forestalled him.
“There must be no delay. These letters must be decoded without any loss
of time. Let me see, who is the man? There is a man—connected with
the British Museum. Knows all there is to know about ciphers. Ran the
department for us during the War. Where is Miss Oscar? She will know.
Name something like Win—Win——”
“Professor Wynward,” said Battle.
“Exactly. I remember perfectly now. He must be wired to, immediately.”
“I have done so, Mr. Lomax, an hour ago. He will arrive by the 12.10.”
“Oh, very good, very good. Thank Heaven, something is off my mind.
I shall have to be in town to-day. You can get along without me, I
suppose?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Well, do your best, Battle, do your best. I am terribly rushed just at
present.”
“Just so, sir.”
“By the way, why did not Mr. Eversleigh come over with you?”